


We Are the Storm

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 11:46:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19927558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: Kili is a small time thief with big time powers and a lot of baggage. When a hero starts taking special interest in him, everything comes undone.





	We Are the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> With many thanks to Linane for donating and making a beautiful photoset: https://linane-art.tumblr.com/post/186478671156/we-never-really-talked-origin-stories-she-blew

**Category 1: Displays a single ability with low to no impact on the environment, people, or state of matter around them.**

Kili opened the sliding glass door at the back of his house, fumbling to turn the lights on. He stood in his kitchen in his gear, looking at the pile of dirty dishes with a groan. A single gesture tossed panels of black kevlar onto the scavenged mannequin that stood, listing slightly to the left. They smacked into place with a satisfying dull thud, taking pressure off his beleaguered joints. 

With a lazy flick, the zipper on his morphsuit slid down as he pulled a beer from the mostly empty fridge. The suit puddled on the floor, sending up an acrid smell of sweat. Lovely. He made it get up and dance itself into the overflowing laundry hamper. 

After a much needed trip to the bathroom (there was no quick pee break during a bank heist), he investigated the damage in the mirror. He was definitely going to have a black eye, and the red marks scorching down his left side would mean an ugly large bruise in the morning. Nothing broken though, so he was probably good just to lay around and whine to himself rather than run off to the hospital. 

He flopped onto his couch, feet up on one arm of it and turned on the television. 

“This is Reed Drover reporting from the Prancing Pony Credit Union,” the reporter frowned seriously at the camera, “at 1am this morning, a disturbance was reported by a passing driver. He claimed to see a flash of lightning inside the building, appearing to start a fire. When emergency services arrived on the scene, they discovered something very different. For the last three years, a thief that the press and police have dubbed ‘Lockpick’ has stolen millions from city banks.” 

“Thousands,” Kili corrected absently, taking a long drink from his beer. His cat, Fingers, finally emerged from under the coffee table to give him an incredulous look. “People that steal in the millions get caught faster, you know this.” 

Fingers put her tail in the air and went to inspect her food bowl. Finding it full, she started loudly cracking through the kibble. 

“Rarely caught on surveillance tape, it was assumed that Lockpick was an accomplished, but sparkless thief. Tonight, he was caught in the act by new to the scene superhero, Forge. When emergency services arrived, they found the two locked in battle. He has dispatched of most Arnor’s would-be villains with his super strength, flaming broadsword, and fire manipulation over the last six months. For the first time tonight, Forge met his match. According to eyewitnesses, the battle was something to behold.” 

The camera switched to a woman in a heavy sweatshirt and dark eye makeup, 

“I was walking home after my shift,” she explained, “and I saw these flashes of light. I thought they were from all the fire trucks at first. Then I could see that they weren’t lights at all. Just fire and lightning burning the place up. Scary as hell.” 

The camera returned to Reed Drover, “The fight lasted only two and a half minutes, but it was long enough for Lockpick to blast Forge off his feet and escape. Lockpick will most likely now be added to the Villain Watch List by all local police departments.” 

Someone off camera yelled something and Drover turned with interest, “Forge is emerging from the bank! Let’s see if he has a moment to speak with us.” 

Kili took a swallow of beer, “Good luck with that.” 

Forge emerged from the bank. Every inch of his body was covered in a dark brown leather. The eye holes in his mask were covered in smoky glass, his mouth and nose with a thick mesh. In the last six months since his arrival, he’d given exactly one interview and that had been in print. He had declared his hero name, pronouns and intention to help the region with it’s growing villain problem before flying off while the reporter yelled questions at his retreating feet. 

“Forge!” Drover had a mic out, looking at the figure in breathless anticipation. “Can you tell us what happened here tonight?” 

The head tilted ever so slightly to one side, regarding the camera. Massive leather shoulders hunched in slightly. 

“Can you tell us more about Lockpick? How did they get away?” 

“Cause I’m better,” Kili informed the television with a grin. “And he wasn’t ready for that.” 

Forge’s great broadsword was no longer flaming. It hung limply in one giant hand. 

“Forge? Can you tell us anything?” 

“No,” Forge’s voice startled both the reporter and Kili. It was digitally altered, a distorted hiss of syllables. “Dangerous. Cat 3.” 

“Category 5 just like you leatherface,” Kili countered merrily. “Guess you’re not the only game in town now, huh?” 

“How dangerous? Should we be worried?” 

Forge nodded and then pushed off the ground, slightly denting the sidewalk as he took to the air. It wasn’t a particularly showy way of flying. Forge in general was less of a plumage fluffer than the other heroes Kili had run into. 

The other heroes that were too embarrassed to say they got their asses kicked by a totally unknown villain that disappeared without a trace. It’d be interesting to see if Metric Ton, Lightfoot, or Wizdom would admit to their encounters now. 

He switched over to cartoons, remembering belatedly to open the trap door under the mannequin and sent his gear into the tiny sub-basement. In the morning, he could fish out the handful of jewelry that he’d gotten out of the safe deposit boxes before Forge got there. For tonight he finished his drink and fell asleep on the couch. 

He rarely slept in his bed. There was too much space on the wide mattress, a second pillow never dented by another head. 

“Shit,” he groaned when he woke up. His whole left side was definitely bruised, aching terribly as he leveraged himself up. 

He dragged himself to the shower, got in under piping hot water and washed himself gingerly. The black eye wasn’t too bad, he expertly covered it with concealer. Then he pulled on cargo shorts and the baggiest band t-shirt he could find and gave himself the world’s laziest bun before grabbing his messenger bag and heading out. It was only a mile to campus and he stopped for an enormous coffee on the way. 

“Hey,” Tauriel gave him one of her dazzling smiles when he sat down next to her. “You look fucking terrible.” 

“Thanks,” he saluted her with his coffee. “I feel like total shit.” 

“I saw the news,” her eyes darted around quickly, accessing the room, but no one was paying them any attention. 

“Ugh,” he propped his chin up on his hand. “I have no idea how he knew I was there. I didn’t even think he bothered with shit like that.” 

“Same,” she frowned. “I was going to go after Perry this week, but now I’m wondering if I should hold back.” 

“Aw, c’mon, don’t do that,” he protested. “You’ve been working on him for ages. Forge is all about the violent stuff usually.” 

“Usually, but he broke up your little dog and pony show last night.” 

“Yeah,” he leaned back in the chair. “I thought I’d have more time before I got outed that way.” 

“Maybe we should both put a hold on it for a bit.” 

Class started after that, a parade through the Great Works of the First Age that made Kili very very sleepy. Tauriel took diligent notes and he’d probably just talk her into letting him photocopy them later in exchange for his writing her term paper. Not for the first time, he was extremely grateful that they’d managed to find each other. 

“I’m serious, you dumbass,” she hissed at him when class let out and they started to part ways. “Don’t do anything else for a few weeks. The last thing you need is an archenemy.” 

“Right,” Kili snorted. “Like the great Forge is gonna bother with me that much.” 

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Lightfoot was after me for awhile and I hadn’t even done much yet. You never know why they get fixated, so don’t lean in, okay?” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

He had another class right after that one, and despite his aches and pains, he sank into the warm enjoyment of shaping clay. Before college, he hadn’t taken any art classes and he’d signed up for the first one just to fulfill a requirement. He’d been shocked by how much he enjoyed it and at this rate he’d be graduating with a B.A. in Fine Arts in another semester. 

It was amazing what you could do when you had no one left to answer to. No expectations. It would be freeing if wasn’t all so fucking depressing. 

With the rest of the day open, Kili went home and retrieved the goods from his niche under the floorboards. He had a little desk shoved under a window in his bedroom with all of his jeweler's tools tucked neatly into a drawer. He spent the afternoon happily prying out gems and re-setting them. By the time he was done they were unrecognizable. He tucked them in to his safe under his desk. 

The first time he’d gotten nearly gotten caught it was at a pawn shop because he’d tried to turn things over a week after he’d stolen them. It took a few close calls for him to learn. Now the pieces waited, didn’t go to pawn shops at all, but to the backdoor of respectable stores with owners that didn’t mind a muddied chain of acquisition. Right now he was living off the proceeds of crimes from almost the beginning of his career. 

Idly, he pulled up the homemade messaging system shared with Arnor’s villains. They each went by a number there in case the supposedly impenetrable encryption was pierced. It wasn’t a spot oozing with trust, but it did have enough mutual benefits that the software still got passed from hand to hand in the whispering dark. 

_56789: Logged In_

_72111: Afternoon. How did you make out? I was concerned when I saw the news._

72111 was the Toymaker. He was semi-retired, but had worked a job or two with Kili before. 

_56789: Some bruises, but I got the goods. Nothing to worry about here. Probably take a break for a bit._

_72111: That’s too bad. Just heard about a big fish coming into town. He’s looking for a group for a big job. Could probably use some light fingers._

_56789: Doubt they’ll come knocking on my door._

_72111: I can put in a good word with you. I used to work with him back in the day. Reliable for good pay usually. Might be the One Job._

_56789: No such thing._

_72111: I’m serious. Cash in hand at the end. Enough to live comfortably for a long time. Maybe for good._

Kili sat back in his chair. The One Job was something everyone on the chat talked about, except for the really out there ones that were in the game just to take out heroes. Mostly, they were normal or Level One or Two sparks that dreamed of being ridiculously rich or powerful. To have whatever Enough was. But for most of them ‘Enough’ shifted in definition all the time. Always just out of reach. 

Didn’t mean that Kili stopped being hungry for it. 

_56789: Need details._

_72111: I’ll let you know._

**Category 2: Displays two or more abilities with low impact on the environment, people, or state of matter around them.**

The bruises healed slowly. He met Tauriel for a study date and they kept conversation entirely on their daytime lives. Legolas showed up mid-way through and did his weird silent hovering for a few minutes before Tauriel got him to sit down. 

“You’re so weird,” she complained, shoving her notes at him. “Come on, quiz us.” 

Legolas frowned, but then did as he was told, reciting facts gamely and clearly taking pleasure in telling them when they were wrong. Kili sort of hated him, but also appreciated that maybe he could technically say he had two friends rather than one which sounded less sad. 

He had been social as a teen. Had a lot of friends. But after everything, he’d washed up on the shores of college alone and couldn’t remember the trick of it. He missed being a part of a group. Not enough to invite Legolas to dinner or anything, but he felt the hollowness as he stopped to get takeout. 

That meant it was time for the weekly calls. He pulled up his list. Seventy-four facilities in the entire country. He called at least three places a week and started over when he got to the end. His speech was so immaculately polished so he could deliver it in his sleep, 

“Hi, I’m looking for a patient named Fili Dain, but he may be listed with you as a John Doe. He’s five foot, six inches’, blonde hair, blue eyes,” he smells a little like burnt toast if you’re close enough and he kisses you like it’s the last time every time until it actually is the last time, but you won’t know that, “He would’ve been brought in sometime in the last four years in a persistent vegetative state. I’m his legal guardian and he was moved without my permission. I can provide evidence,” forged, of course, but it should be true so it barely mattered. 

He would listen as someone click clacked on their keyboard or just gently reminded him they had talked last year or the year before that and promised to call him if anyone matching the description was brought in. 

Sometimes it didn’t bother him, it had become a pointless chore like making his bed right before he got into it. Tonight, with the gnawing in his gut, it itched at him. 

He summoned up his suit and got dressed, tucking the head of the morph suit into the hood of a generously sized sweatshirt. Without the obvious kevlar plates on top and the face covering, he just looked like a regular guy. He hadn’t needed to do patrols in years, was freed from trolling for the dregs of society at their work, but some days he would just walk around the few blocks that made of his neighborhood. 

Maybe it was silly nostalgia or just something to do on a quiet night when there was nothing good on television. He didn’t work this close to home, so he wasn’t casing anything. It just seemed like the thing to do. It wasn’t that he objected to heroes on the whole anyway. He was just sick of the refrain that had haunted him his whole childhood, 

“You have a power that obligates you to use it for others.” 

A power that was scoffed at. That regulated him to the back of the Burning Pack with vague excuses about his age while his thermonuclear brother, barely three years ahead of him, had taken point. Fili whose eyes blazed, who was ever the favored child. Fili whose shoulders bent into a brittle curve with the weight of expectations. And Kili the clown, Kili the little spark with the sparks, who held up the rear and his brother’s morale. 

Until Smaug and the end of the fucking world. 

But no, Kili didn’t hate heroes. Didn’t have a vendetta even. What was left of the Burning Pack still roamed through the world without any trouble from him. Revenge wasn’t his angle. He just wanted to live. 

So sometimes, he did his old duty and let obligation tug at him. He walked through the quiet streets, expanding his senses out. Nothing caught his eye as he traveled and he was nearly home when he saw a comet plumet through the city bright night sky. 

Not a comet. He narrowed his sharp eyes, making out the dead weight limbs and unfortunate costume. The body of Forge landed heavy on the roof of a nearby building, the flames guttering to smoke. In Kili’s experience, an extinguished fire spark was bad news. 

“Fuuuuck,” he could just go home. Really. He could. “Fuck.” 

He pulled his hood over his face and discarded the hoodie under trash where he could find it later. Than he was using telekinesis, muscle and sheer bullheadedness to scale the building, launching himself over the lip. 

Forge was laying prone near the center of the roof. Kili moved a little slower, 

“Forge?” he didn’t bother with electronic distortion, a simple accent picked up from Tauriel and Legolas was good enough for him. “You alive?” 

The body twitched, a creepy noise emitting from the mouth. A distorted groan maybe. The gloves smoked.

“Okay, good. Living is good, we can work with living. Do you have a comm or something? I can page your do gooder buddies to give you a lift.” 

“No,” the syllable was forced through. Forge levered himself up on his elbows. “Go. I. Heal. ” 

“If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll not be the villain that let a hero die,” Kili put his hands on his hips staring down at the bulk, aware of the glass covered eyes training onto his face. “Yes, hi. Please don’t blast me off the building, I don’t have super healing and I don’t want to die tonight.” 

“Lock. Pick.” 

“Yeah, that’s me,” he frowned. “You want me to help you sit up?” 

“No.” 

“I won’t hurt you,” Kili sighed. “I’m just a thief, promise.” 

“Hot,” Forge gestured to his body. 

“Oh, right. Forgot about the whole comet impression. What happened?” 

“Fell.” 

“Yeah, I got that part. Real chatterbox, huh? That’s cool,” Kili took the risk and sat down a few feet away. “That’s fine, I can talk enough for both of us.” 

Forge shifted slightly, made a cut off noise again. 

“Ribs setting? I knew a guy with super healing. Always thought it was a bitch of a power. I had to re-break his arm once because it healed wrong. Worst fucking thing I ever had to do in my life. Then again, if I break an arm it sucks for weeks. By the way, thanks for the massive bruises, still not breathing right.” 

To his surprise, Forge offered a noise that sounded like ‘Sorry’. 

“Yeah, well, what were you even doing beating on a petty thief like me? I’m a small fry and there’s still big wild game out there.” 

“Can’t. Tell. Big. Small,” one of Forge’s shoulders stuttered up and down in a parody of a shrug. 

“Huh. So you’ve got a naughty sensor too?” Kili nodded. “Fucking Fives, more powers than they know what to do with.” 

Forge lay back down slowly, apparently deciding Kili wasn’t going to try anything. 

“Anyway, if I’m around than you should know it’s small. I don’t go in for splash.” 

“Why?” 

“Because that’s how you wind up in a specialized prison cell sucking gruel through a straw or whatever,” Kili shuddered. “I’m not interested in having a personal hero on my ass. I like my freedom.” 

“Then...stop.” 

“No,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll just have to get better at being invisible, I guess. Figure out how not to trip your wires.” 

“Why?” 

“Why what? Why don’t I want to stop?” 

A slight nod. 

“You ever get that itch when you haven’t used your abilities in a few days? Like your brain is crawling with ants?”

Another nod. 

“Powers are meant to be used. I tried the hero thing, it wasn’t for me. I steal from places that can take the loss. I don’t get brain itches, I pay off my student loans. Win-win until some show off kicks my ass over a handful of jewelry.” 

Forge didn’t say anything else. Kili pitched pebbles off the side of the building into the alleyway. 

“If you want my opinion,” he shifted slightly, keeping his legs from falling asleep, “you should go after Flutist. He’s a fucking monster.” 

He could feel Forge’s attention all of a sudden, a prickle at the back of his neck. 

“He’s barely a Cat 3, you could take him in a second if he lets you get near him. But his spark is mental confusion. If he can so much as hum, he can distract you and get away. He ran a job when I was new and we waltzed in and out. But he gave me the shivers. Turns out he likes to cut up people while they’re under his influence, can’t make accurate reports after that. I’ve been trying to think of a way to get rid of him for years.” 

Forge shifted, his body creaking as he turned entirely to Kili. 

“He lives somewhere in the old meatpacking district. I don’t know more than that. His costume is a dark blue and he wears and old school domino mask.” 

The sword laying dormant at Forge’s side flared to life, blazing hot. Kili jumped to his feet warily. Forge pressed his palms to the rooftop and pushed, making two small dents. He stumbled to upright, swayed, but didn’t fall. They faced each other and Kili was already marking escape routes. 

“Go,” the digital voice creaked. 

He didn’t need to be told twice. Kili took a running leap and jumped with a telekinetic push to the next building’s rooftop, then the next until he found one with a fire escape he could easily climb down. Overhead, Forge took to the sky, a bright light against the black velvet of night. 

He ate instant ramen when he got home and then lay on the floor so Fingers would climb onto his chest and purr. He stroked her soft fur and thought about nothing. 

**Category 3: Displays one or more abilities with measurable impact on the environment, people, or state of matter around them. Can be a danger to themselves or others**

_72111: Told the big fish about you._ The Toymaker pinged him a few days later. _There’s a meet in three days. No commitment. Come in, see the job, sign up if you’re game._

Kili thought about Forge and the eyes behind smoked glass. The way they felt as they pierced through him. 

_56789: Gonna pass._

_72111: You’re loss._

_56789: Be careful. It’s not easy picking right now._

“You okay?” Tauriel asked, eyebrows knitted together. 

“I don’t know,” he gave her a crooked smile. “I turned down a big job.” 

“Why?” 

“It was just rubbing me wrong, but now I’m thinking I made a mistake.” 

“Only jobs you can’t get screwed on are the ones you don’t go on,” she shrugged. 

“Yeah, okay, good point. Did you back off yours?”

“For now. I’ll see if I can backdoor it after the semester is over.” 

Still three days later he was perched on a rooftop, watching the entrance of a warehouse. He saw the Toymaker with his distinct peaked hat, The Elder with his cane in one hand and a newspaper in the other, and others that he didn’t recognize. None of them were the Big Fish though. He could tell by the way they scurried and looked nervous. 

Once, he’d been bad at waiting. It hadn’t been the Pack’s style anyway. Rush in, take down the baddies, and then get the glory had done them well enough for a long time. So he hadn’t learned the art of stillness and how to pass the time by letting it flow over him than live in each minute. 

That had taken time at Fili’s bedside, holding a limp hand. He had learned to slow his breathing in time to the heart monitor, watching even green spikes. 

His patience paid off nearly a half an hour later. A man with long hair and a sure stride headed towards the building at his own pace. Kili fished out his binoculars, focusing them. Just as the man was about to slip in the door, he did a quick check of his perimeter and gave Kili a good full on view of his face. 

“You motherfucker,” Kili almost dropped his binoculars. 

Kili sat down hard on the roof, wrapped his arms around his knees and pressed his forehead to his thighs. He breathed carefully, one in and one out. His brain itched. His fingers tingled. 

_It’s okay, Ki,_ he could recall the exact gentle touch, the beloved hand on his five year old forehead. _You won’t hurt anyone, you just gotta take a breath. One in and one out._

Their uncle standing over them, always half-watching, half thinking of other things, as Kili struggled to regain control. Not that his sparks were a danger to anyone. Tiny fragments of lights that danced on his palms. Nothing in contrast to the blaze in his brother’s eyes, the fire behind the watery blue. Caged, but never put out, always threatening to spill over and consume the world. 

He forced himself to stand, to start running. This wasn’t full power, it was overcharge and he knew as soon as he made the jump to the next rooftop that he’d given it to much. He was sailing straight over and into the gap between. 

The air went taut. He dangled in mid air, a hot bar of metal across his chest. He clung to it, his hands sweating and slick. The bar adjusted slightly, resolved itself in his vision as an arm. A brown leather clad arm. 

“Forge,” he gasped out. “Thank fuck. I was almost street meat.” 

Forge carried them to the next rooftop, setting Kili down gently. 

“Did I make you naughty senses tingle?” he forced out a breath and sucked another one in. His brain was still itchy. 

“Around,” Forge shrugged. 

“Yeah, I get it,” he thought about the meet up and Forge’s abilities. “Breaking up that meet and greet by the dock?” 

Forge tilted his head, “You?” 

“No. Not for me. I got an offer, but it’s not my style.” 

“Small,” Forge nodded. 

“Yeah, exactly. Um, would you mind dropping me off at the ground floor if you’re not going to arrest me?” 

Forge tapped the hilt of his sword. 

“Come on, man, please? I haven’t done shit since our last tango and I sat with you while your body got it’s shit together, didn’t I? I’m not a big bad, you clearly have another job going, so....” 

Forge swept him up over his shoulder in a fireman carry. 

“Shit! You are like ten thousand degrees, you know. Try not to cook my organs,” actually it felt pretty good. Like curling up next to a wood burning stove after being out in the cold for too long. 

Forge hesitated when he was in the air, then cocked his head. They descended rapidly after that, Kili getting dropped like a sack of potatoes when they landed. 

“Hey!” 

But then Forge was gone, leaving his sidewalk foot dents behind. That had to be a bitch for the city to clear up after. He wondered if there was a budget line for maligned concrete. 

Kili considered just laying down there and letting whatever happen just happen, but then he thought about his brother, who was probably laying down somewhere still and might forever. He pushed himself up. He walked briskly away from the meeting point and called Tauriel. 

“Hey,” she sounded soft like she might be in bed. 

“Hey,” he stared down the street, looking at all the lit and dark windows of people who didn’t know what was happening and wouldn’t care if they did. “So the big fish is a big fucking problem and I don’t know what to do.” 

“Come to mine,” she said immediately. “I’ll make tea.” 

The tea smelled like flowers and she was in her pajamas, hair pulled back from her face in a bun. She looked very touchable. Kili had given up wanting to touch a long time ago. 

He stretched out on her couch and she sat at the other end. 

“We never really talked origin stories,” she blew the steam away from her mug. “Is this that?” 

“Origin story makes it sound mythological.” 

“We are myths,” she shrugged. “Bigger than life.” 

“You’re wearing cartoon llama pants.” 

“I mean to everyone else. You and I know we’re just people with extras. They don’t. We’re code names that move in the dark. We have origin stories.” 

“Then yeah, I guess this has to do with mine.” 

He took a sip of tea. A breeze whipped leaves by her window. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” she shrugged. “But you called me.” 

“I was Category 1 until I was eighteen,” he stared into his tea. “I made pretty lights.” 

“So you’re a late bloomer,” she nodded. “Makes sense.” 

“Does it?” 

“People that are late to it, always seem more grateful and cautious.” 

“Two things I’m not often called,” he snorted. “But yeah. Pretty lights and not a lot of use to the big league. But it was a family clan, right? We all moved together, so I was doing do gooder stuff starting really young.” 

“You were a hero?” she tilted her head, taking him in. “Really?” 

“I know, hard to believe,” he rolled his eyes. 

“Well. Maybe not that hard.” 

“Hey, don’t diminish my street cred,” he said without any real passion. “I hated it anyway. We were always being dragged around to try and stop these awful things. And I was a kid. Just a kid with pretty lights and I had to look at all this dark bullshit straight in the eye. And...and my brother...” 

The fall leaves went dancing on by. Tauriel said nothing, just drank her tea and waited. 

“My brother was born to be a hero,” he said when he could manage it. “By the time he was eight, everyone could tell he was meant for big things. He was a fire spark and a scary powerful one even as a little kid. They had him in special classes, training rooms. He took out his first villain before he hit puberty.” 

“That’s not technically legal,” she frowned. 

“Right, because everyone cares about kid sparks and their rights.” 

“My parents did.” Her parents were also very dead, so Kili wasn’t going to touch that one with a ten foot pole. 

“Our mom didn’t. Our uncle definitely didn’t. We grew up in the field. He was our leader. Very strong in his ideas. Traditional. Having the spark means you have a responsibility.” 

“Guess he got the brain itches real bad.” 

“Probably. But whatever. Anyway, his big arch-nemesis was a fire spark too. Classic old school type, breathed fire and everything,” he tried not to let his eyes shut or he’d be staring down the nose of the battle all over again, “and he’s been in the game longer than anyone. Doesn’t really bother much with actual fights, people are just scared enough to leave him alone.” 

“But not your uncle?” She guessed. 

“Yeah exactly,” he took a sip of the tea, starting to go cold. “He sent my brother in as the lead.” 

“He sent a fire spark after a fire spark?” she sat up straighter, turning to face him, “what the fuck?” 

“I know! And honestly, T, this guy...he was probably a Cat 6.” 

“There haven’t been provable 6s in a hundred years.” 

“Provable being the key word there,” he grimaced. “No one could touch him supposedly. So no one had tried. Which meant we didn’t really know what we were up against.” 

“And it didn’t end well, huh?” 

“He beat my brother’s head in, then got started on everyone else. I dragged my brother out of the fight and that’s all the good I did. It was like seeing a monster out of a movie, not a person. There wasn’t much person left at all.” 

The way Smaug had fought them off had been so...careless. Like they were paper dolls. Annoyances. 

“I’m sorry,” her hand landed on his calf, long fingers wrapping around it. A squeeze. Grounding him back down. 

“Me too,” Kili gave her a watery smile. “It sucked. I got help. Fili went to the hospital, but he was comatose, hooked into a dozen machines. My uncle kept saying we should unhook him that it was stopping him from healing. Fili’s healing factor was shit, this just sluggish Cat 1 sort of thing. I fought him on it. First time I ever fought him on anything. Then I came to visit one day and he was just gone. Thorin just fucking moved him so I wouldn’t be able to stop him from doing what he wanted. Said I was distracted on patrols.” 

“He still had you working?” her eyes were wide in outrage and it had never occurred to him that that was also not great. Maybe he wasn’t ready to confront all the Wrong just yet. 

“I fucking lost it,” he set down his mug, worried at the tingling in his fingers would shatter the poor thing. “Manifested straight up to Cat 5, right there in the hallway of the hospital and almost blew my uncle through a wall. But he went right on talking, right on not noticing me doing heavy breathing exercises so I wouldn’t come apart at the seams. 

“So I walked out. Blew a fucking generator out once I was far enough away from people. Went home, got together what I money I had and left town.” 

“Kili,” she squeezed his shin again. “I knew you were on your own like me, but I thought maybe...I dunno. Nothing like that. So what’s it got to do with your big fish?” 

“Guess all that do gooding burned out of him when Fili blazed out,” he said bitterly. “Because Thorin IS the big fish.” 

“Shit,” she gave him a sympathetic look. 

“Yeah. Shit,” he shook his head. “I don’t know what to do about it.” 

“Why do you have to do anything? You’re not on the job, right? He’s a hero problem now. You’re not a hero.” 

“No, but-” 

“But what? If you turn him in, you’ll take down everyone who signed up with him. Our allies.” 

Kili thought about the Toymaker’s wide grin and ready offer of a drink. He didn’t want that, even if he felt safe enough to go to the police. 

“I have to...I don’t know! I have to, right?” 

“That’s a perk of being the bad guy,” she shrugged. “We don’t really have to do anything.” 

And she was right and he thanked her for the tea and the advice. He walked home, turning that over and over in his head. He fed Fingers, lay down on his own couch and stared at the ceiling for awhile. Then he signed into the network, but no one was on. It was too late to call hospitals. 

His brain itched. 

He put on his costume and went out into the night. He didn’t even have a destination, had no idea what he was doing. Patrolling? Casing? There was nothing and no one to guide him. 

Almost against his will, he started searching the sky. No pinpricks of flame tonight, unless you counted the stars. 

Which was why he almost had a heart attack when the sound of his footsteps on the pavement doubled and his shadow resolved into Forge. 

“Fuck me running!” he clasped his chest. 

“Shh...” Forge’s tinny voice hummed out. The leather mask cocked to one side, listening maybe? “There.” 

Then he started to run and Kili, for lack of anything else, ran with him. It was interesting to hear the slap of shoes beside him again. It made him think of the better days of the Burning Pack when he could keep up and wasn’t too much of a nuisance.

Forge swept down a dark alleyway, his sword igniting, body flaring up like a furnace to burn behind those smoky bits of glass. Two would be felons looked up in clear terror. They were clearly in progress of trying to break into the back of a building, their tools still hanging out of the lock. 

“Stop, evil doers,” Kili said with a laugh. “And try not to piss your pants.” 

Forge paused and turned to look at Kili who looked blandly back through his morph suit. Funny how they could convey mutual disdain without either seeing the other’s eyes. 

“Please! Just take us in!” One of the robbers yelped, dropping to his knees and putting his hands behind his head. 

“Come on, that’s just embarrassing,” Kili chided. 

“Don’t you know who that fucker is?” the robber was shaking, his compatriot clearly trying to decide if they should try to run or not. “He burns people up.” 

“Does he?” Kili rocked back on his heels. 

“Sure, I knew this pimp who’s still in the hospital, dozen skin grafts. Street says he killed another one.” 

The other robber decided to run, Forge took off, taking partially to the air and then landing with a thud in front of them, tipping them onto their ass with a half hearted shove. 

“Street story,” Kili scoffed. 

“Ask him,” the robber on the ground demanded. 

“You burning folks up, Forge?” Kili lifted his chin. “You making mincemeat of small timers?” 

To his infinite horror, Forge paused. Then shrugged. 

“...I’m going to take care of these two. I’ll call the cops while you watch and then you get lost,” he decided, his stomach flipping over. 

Forge didn’t move. Kili called it in on his burner phone. He hung up. Forge was staring at him. 

“Go,” Kili said calmly. 

Forge did not go. Kili stood in front of the shaking robber, one telekinetic hold on his collar in case he tried to bolt. 

“These two idiots are under my protection. You want to burn someone alive, go find a murderer or something.” 

Forge took a single step toward him. The earth moved ever so slightly under Kili’s feet. The fire behind the smoked glass danced. 

“I said go,” Kili said quietly. “You’re no one’s hero right now.” 

The ground shook again, but this time it was lift off and Forge blazed up into the sky. 

“Who are you?” the second robber was on their feet again. Kili tripped him up so he landed back on his ass. 

“Bright Light,” the old name, so old it was nearly dead, fell from his lips without his permission. 

“Thanks,” the first robber didn’t try to shake his hold. “For saving us.” 

**Category 4: Displays one or more abilities with a large measurable impact on the environment, people, or state of matter around them. Usually they are stronger than and average sparkless individual and may display enhanced control over their bodies.**

It was funny how a single night could change the course of action. The police showed up and Kili was gone, but he was already whirring. Impulse didn’t serve a thief well, but maybe deep down, there was still a part of him that still wasn’t a thief. 

Maybe he wasn’t really ready to be a villain. 

He bought painter’s tape and spray paint. The emblem was simple, a bright blue bolt of lightning from shoulder to hip. His sweatshirt would cover it. 

“Strange reports have been coming in for the past few weeks,” Reed Drover stood in front of smoking apartment building. “A spark identifying themselves only as Storm has arrived on the scene of crimes and they’re defending the criminals! Using displays of powerful telekinesis, Bright Light intervenes wherever a hero needs to use force. Sometimes this results in escapes, but the police have found almost all suspects ready for arrest. Debate rages if this new face is out to steal acclaim or has their own nefarious ends.” 

“Kili, why?” Tauriel whined as the newscast played quietly in the background of the cafeteria. 

“He was hurting them,” Kili bit into a fry, severing it in two. “Killed someone. That’s not the way the game is played.” 

“You’re defending terrible people.” 

“Have you ever had a third degree burn?” 

“No,” she frowned. 

He pulled down the shoulder of his shirt, until she could see the four shining patches over his right nipple. 

“I have,” he let the shirt come back up. “Mine were small. It was an accident.”

“Did it hurt?” 

“Not the burn. The nerves there are dead. But the treatment...” he shivered. “Yeah. It sucked ass.” 

Fili had apologized with a river of gifts and small kindnesses, but he would never forget the long nights in the burn ward, the throbbing press of fingertips over his heart. He’d been eleven, Fili thirteen, an accident of a powerful adolescent spark. It happened. It was an accident. When they were older and foolish, when they had hid from the world under thin blankets and bracketing arms, Fili would kiss each spot. As if he could erase them. 

Sometimes Kili still dreamed about it. More and more Fili crept back into his dreams, sticking to the edges. Just out of sight. 

So Bright Light went out and defended the lowest of the low. Thieves, pimps, and small time crooks. He made sure they got dealt with, tried not to leave them free. But he stood in front of them, ready to bring hell if Forge got out of hand. And somehow that extended out. To Lightfoot, the archer that could walk on air, to Metric Ton who’s super strength could shear metal, and Wizdom with his superior mind. 

In the end, they waited for him to move. And he would not. 

“I could flatten you,” Metric Ton said slowly. “A thin Bright Light pancake.” 

“You could,” he agreed. Behind him a drug dealer heaved in breath after breath like he was running a marathon. “Go ahead and try me.” 

They never did. He wasn’t sure why at first until a bored Lightfoot started climbing his invisible staircase into the sky and tossed out, 

“Forge thinks too much of you. I bet you’re just a person under all that kevlar. Barely a spark to your name.” 

He was tempted to bring every bit of his power crashing down on his head, but he was working hard to hide. To make them think just that. He just hadn’t known that Forge was helping. 

He logged on to the villain's chat less and less often. It was a dying star anyway, bursts of messages about the mysterious big job followed by days of silence. He lingered there in the white field of text, unsure of how to proceed. 

At college, he kept on as he had. Near invisible, speaking mostly only with Tauriel though she watched him with a faint confusion as time passed. 

And he painted. He painted like there was infinite canvas and not enough time. Dark streaks bursting from him in undulating waves. He painted caverns and spiked mountains with single small fires tucked into crevices. He painted trees looming over travellers with their faces a murky blur. He painted rain in torrents, flooding the world. 

“This is different,” his professor frowned. 

“I don’t even know,” Kili admitted, staring helplessly at the bleak scene before him. Giants of rock hurling boulders through a patchy sky, small figures scattered below them, isolated and frightened. 

“Maybe you should take a break,” the professor's hand rested momentarily on his shoulder, a point of concerned warmth. 

But he didn’t. His new purpose drove him as his uncle had tried to drive him all those years ago. He missed people, often. Sparks were fast and he wasn’t the fastest among them. Most of the time they were fine. It wasn’t like heros made a habit of hurting people. But often enough there were broken bones, blood, and the scent of burning hair going unseen in mugshots. 

He didn’t see Forge much at all. The man seemed to have faded after their confrontation, rarely streaking across the sky. 

Everything felt like the terrible deep breath before hitting water and starting to drown. 

He hadn’t expected the one to break it would be Legolas with his darting eyes. He was just walking from one class to another when long fingers snagged him and drew him behind a building. 

“Listen,” Legolas said low and tight, demanding silence before Kili could protest. “If you really care about protecting scum, you should know that Lightfoot just lost a grip on a passel of them. They’re headed for Misty Mountain.” 

“I don’t-” but the protest died his mouth, half-unformed. 

“Tauriel didn’t tell me,” he said firmly. “I just guessed because of other stuff. But I know Lightfoot. If what sleeps in the mountain doesn’t kill them, he will when he catches up to them.”

“I have to go to them,” he realized with hideous sickness. He might hate his Uncle, but he was still his Uncle. If he had the remains of the Burning Pack and the Toymaker and who knew who else with him, then he was leading them straight into near certain death. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Legolas looked away. “I don’t like any of this. Never have, but I’m not going to let people get killed.” 

Kili risked clapping Legolas on the shoulder before heading towards home. A familiar car was waiting in front of his house. Tauriel was on his couch in the living room petting Fingers. 

“He told you too?” 

“He told me first and I told him to tell you,” she shrugged. She was wearing her kit already, green and brown and practical tied back hair. 

“I’m going to go after them.” 

“I know,” she smiled faintly. “And you need backup.” 

“Could be dangerous,” he summoned his costume up through the floor, letting his powers dress him. “Could be deadly.” 

“I’ve outlived worse things than your family dramas,” she shrugged. 

Kili put out extra food for Fingers, watching her with a frown. 

“If something happens, Legolas will come for her,” Tauriel assured him. “I already made him promise.” 

That touched him more than her decision to come with him somehow. His eyes were suddenly hot and his throat scratchy. He leaned down and gave the cat a good scratch under the chin and kissed the top of her furry little head. 

“Okay,” he stood up with a hard swallow. “Let’s go.” 

They had the advantage over the fugitive gang, who doubtless were hugging the river and trying to keep their heads’ down. They took an easy route, winding their way down the interstate in Tauriel’s reliable car. The exited at Laketown, a respectable two lane road splitting up to the town built up on stilts. 

Or it had been. Once. Before the Burning Pack and their confrontation with Smaug. Before the Beast had woken. Now it was an empty place. Boarded up windows looked out onto silent streets. The evacuation had been called for almost immediately, fear of Smaug taking his revenge on the town. 

It had never come, but the people hadn’t returned. 

“This is like the beginning of a zombie movie,” Tauriel was forced to stop where the road had started to break apart. It hadn’t been long enough for true decay to set in, but Smaug’s spark was a tenacious hungry thing. 

There was probably fire raging a hundred feet below them. Kili set his boots uneasily on the pavement. The mountain was before them, silent in its hulking presence. 

“How do we find them?” 

Her question hung in the air, settled in among the dust. Unanswerable. 

Kili started walking, towards the mountain. That’s where they would be, one way or another. He could defend them from Lightfoot coming for his bounty. He would not stand between them and Smaug, he promised himself. 

A promise that was probably broken before he made it. After all if not that then why was he really here anyway? Why had he stood between Forge and his quarry? 

He rubbed his chest, the fabric of his undershirt serrating over ancient scars. 

“The last time, we took a path around that way,” he pointed up to a mess of boulders. “But it looks like it’s blocked now. They must’ve figured out another way.” 

Tauriel frowned, “We can’t just wander around.” 

“I figure finding a walkable path will be hard enough. If we find one, odds are it’s their route too.” 

For an hour they picked their way around the base of the mountain, looking for a likely way, testing a few smaller paths only to discover them blocked a little ways up. Tauriel sat down on a flat rock and pulled a bottle of water out of her backpack. He sat down beside her and put his head in his hands, listening to the soft swallowing noises she made. 

“What if it’s already happened?” he asked the tops of his shoes. 

“Not possible,” she elbowed him. “We beat them here by hours. Maybe we should just take the highest ground and see if we can spot them.” 

She had some granola bars too so they crunched through them, eyes to the roads and the dead streets of Laketown. The sun was just starting to set, flinging light in their eyes, but Tauriel’s Spark was sight and it didn’t bother her to stare into the bright world. 

“There,” she pointed to shadows thrown across a road. 

“Good eye,” an old tease that fell flat as ash. “Is Lightfoot behind them?”

“Not yet,” she said grimly. 

They could have just stayed there. Watched it play out from a distance and intercede when required. Kili glanced at Tauriel. Wordlessly she pulled on her mask and with a soft sigh, he did the same. 

They met the party at the roots of the mountain. Thorin stood at the front, unmasked and unafraid. 

**Category 5: Displays many abilities with an immeasurable impact on the environment, people, or state of matter around them. Flight, super strength, invisibility, mind reading, and telekinesis may exist in conjunction with one another, feeding off a primary power.**

“Bright Light,” he inclined his head. “Archer. It’s a little late to join the party.” 

“We aren’t,” Tauriel said carelessly. “We’re here to mediate when Lightfoot shows up and tries to smear your skull across the rocks.” 

“Thoughtful,” Thorin didn’t really look at her, his eyes were on the mountain. “But we don’t need anyone’s help today.” 

“Lightfoot isn’t a joke,” she warned. 

“Why would I worry about him when we have Forge?” 

Kili froze, whatever he might’ve said in return dead as ashes on his lips. 

“I don’t see him here,” Tauriel challenged. 

“He’ll be here,” Thorin glanced at the sky. 

Kili followed his eyes. And there in the clouds, a glint of gold. 

“How many will you extinguish?” The words ripped out of him, no fun voice disguise, no more pretense. No more masks. He ripped his off, letting it fall to the ground. “Was he not enough for you?” 

“Kili!” Someone in the pack shouted and his name was carried from mouth to mouth in startled wonderment. 

“You’re alive,” Thorin took a hesitant step toward him. “All this time...” 

“I didn’t even change my name,” Kili snorted. “I was there to find if you were looking, so let’s not pretend, okay?” 

“I didn’t think you wanted me to find you.” 

“I wanted you to do the right thing. I wanted my brother back.” 

“It was killing you,” Thorin’s hand reached toward him. It was shaking. “You weren’t eating, barely sleeping. The doctors were clear that he was never going to wake up, but no one could tell you otherwise.” 

“No one ever gave him enough credit,” Kili stared at him. “So where is he? It’s been years, you can tell me now before you go on your suicide mission. Is he dead?” 

Forge landed hard beside Thorin, his flames sputtering. The glassed over eyes tracked to Kili’s face. They landed there and stopped. Stared. 

Kili breathed out shakily. Pieces falling into their horrible places. Leather hands reached up and wrapped around the dark helm. It came off with difficulty. 

The ruin of Fili’s face was full of light. The right half was mostly intact, the strong nose they shared, a single bright blue eye and high cheekbone. The left, the places where Smaug had broken him, were on fire. Licks of flame danced over his skin, flickering around his forehead and ear. His left ear was an inferno that ate into his neck and some of his long fall of hair was a burning braid. 

“Kili,” the flames formed the words, both Fili’s voice and the fire. “Kili...” 

All other concerns evaporated and Kili was there, taking his brother’s hands in his own. Even with the gloves, they were uncomfortably hot. He could not get any closer or the flames of Fili’s face would singe him. 

“I didn’t know,” he stared at him, trying to understand what he was seeing. “I didn’t know it was you.” 

“Same,” Fili said and it sounded defeated. “Should. Didn’t.” 

“What happened to you? You weren’t like this before I left.” 

Fili pulled a hand free, but not to retreat. Instead his gloved fingers pressed against the scars on Kili’s chest, finding them unerringly. 

“Me?” He blinked. “Did I do this to you?” 

“Your lightening show did,” Thorin sighed, and Kili didn’t turn to look at him. 

“What do you mean?” He demanded. 

“When your powers manifested, it set him off. The doctors think it was a response to stress. It triggered his spark, but there was no mind working to direct it. His healing abilities and the fire...they went rogue. Did their own version of things. By the time his mind was back, it was too late.” 

“And you just turned him into your soldier again,” Kili gritted out. “You let him stumble around like this.” 

“No,” Fili said firmly. The intact side of his mouth curved upwards. “Me.” 

“You always were the responsible one,” Kili grumbled. 

“I was trying to keep him home,” Thorin said aggrieved. “But he wouldn’t have it. We made the suit just so he could go outside and not scare people. I didn’t know he was going to run off with it.” 

“You hurt all those people,” Kili tried to find the soft kindness of his brother in this ruined face.

The blue eye looked away, ashamed. 

The mountain rumbled under their feet. 

“Fine, fine,” Kili clenched his fists. “So he ran off on you. But you’re not letting him face Smaug again. I can’t watch that happen.” 

“So look away,” Thorin started his climb again. “I don’t speak for Fili. He makes his own decisions.” 

“Does he?” 

Fili’s blue eye turned back to him. It pierced him and he didn’t know what to say. His mouth was dry and his eyes were wet. 

“Don’t,” he whispered. Fili glanced up to Thorin’s back. Kili’s heart dropped. “Please.” 

The world rattled, the mountain stretching itself awake. The stone beneath them began to warm unnaturally under the setting sun. 

“Safe,” Fili pointed to Kili then back to Laketown. “Wait.” 

“Like fuck I will,” he turned on his heels. “Fine. You want to die, then die. But don’t ask me to wait around and twiddle my thumbs while it happens. T, you want to duck out?” 

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll hold off Lightfoot. You do what you need to do. And if you die, I’m going to desecrate your grave, got it?” 

“Got it,” he hugged her tight to him and then released her. 

She pressed a hand to his cheek, “Good luck.” 

And then she was gone. The others had gone ahead. It was just him and Fili on an outcrop of rock. 

Was it still Fili? Had all of this altered him? 

The Fili he knew was a hero, would definitely go against Smaug again even after he’d been so horribly injured. The Fili he knew was responsible and kind to a painful fault. 

The Fili he knew wouldn't hurt people just because they’d made bad decisions. Would he?

“I’ll walk with you,” he said instead. 

Fili pointed up. 

“Right, you can fly now. So is this it? You’re going to leave me behind again, make me wait to find out what happens to you?” He asked bitterly. 

“No,” Fili’s glove wrapped around his wrist. He tugged insistently until Kili came closer, closer still. So close that he began to sweat, the heat pulsing off of Fili and penetrating his clothes. Fili studied him and with great care, wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him in tight against his intact side. 

“Okay no, wait a second-” 

Too late. Fili jumped and the air was under them. Kili laughed wildly, his nerves shot and his eyes stinging. The world was small under them and Fili was inhumanely hot beneath him. He couldn’t escape the heady heat or he risked plummeting to his death. 

And a small, humiliated part of him was just happy to be embraced again. Even if the face and the mind weren’t Fili’s, the grip across his back was as familiar as his signature. He dropped his forehead to Fili’s shoulder, ignoring the intensity of the heat and the scrape of leather. This was the shoulder that had absorbed most of his childhood tears, the arm that had borne him up whenever he stumbled. 

“I missed you,” he told him, certain the wind would whisk the words away. 

Fili’s arm tightened around him. 

Too soon they were landing, perched in the heights of the mountain. There was a door already cracked open into the maw of darkness, but when Kili looked down he could just make out his uncle and the rest of the party struggling up the rocks far below. 

“So we have to wait or are you playing taxi for everyone?” 

Fili wasn’t looking down. He was walking through the door. 

“Fili! What are you doing? We can just go in their on our own. Even when we had a full team, he handed us our asses.” 

“You,” Fili stopped, a bright spot of light in the dark entrance. “And me.” 

“What about us?” Kili demanded. “What are we going to do against him?” 

“Enough,” Fili turned and headed back in. 

And as he’d always done before, Kili followed. This was not the way they had come last time. This was a back way, a secret way that must’ve been put there by their far away ancestors long before Smaug had come. 

It twisted slowly down into the guts of the mountain. They passed by living quarters, decayed and dusty, through dining halls with feasts long gone on plates the same color as the table. All of it was lit by Fili’s fire, which threw enormous shadows before it that danced jerkily against the far flung walls. 

Dread curdled in Kili’s stomach, he walked just a fraction behind Fili, who seemed certain of his path. They wound down and down until the hall let out into the massive room that Kili remembered. Here were the piles of riches that made his thieves’ fingers itch for the first time though he had not risked a single coin then. 

Now, he considered the vastness of wealth and instead of greed, he felt only fear. There was something too much about all of it. The very quantity itself seemed like a threat. It loomed above them, threatening to crush those that dare it’s heights. 

Smaug in his horrible glory, had worn a hollow in the gold. He gave off an orange glow that rictohcted among the shining heights. In the relative darkness of the hall, his presence was a screaming beacon. 

He turned to them as they approached, slow as molasses. His eyes were alight. He said nothing, needed to say nothing. His very presence was malice and menace. Kili had not been this close last time, but he remembered the smell of melting metal that surrounded him. How unearthly his movements had been. A man with so much spark that he was barely a man anymore. 

Fili didn’t say anything either. He aligned himself directly across, two fires burning and the air wavering between them. 

And all Kili could think was ‘No’. 

Smaug inhaled and it was a suction of air that drew them further in, Fili’s boots losing purchase against coins. And Kili remembered what came next, the exhalation of power that had ripped Fili asunder. 

No. 

He took a step, then another, until he stood in front of Fili. 

The blast hit him hard, and his hands flew up. His brain didn’t itch, it was on fire. His hands whipped up in front of him, releasing it all. Years of pain and loss and confusion. Weeks of protecting the worst people on Earth from the ones that were meant to be the best. Sadness, fear, anger all welled up in him. 

Kili had been a happy child. Playing with his pretty lights while his brother watched over him. He remembered laughing all the time. He and Fili, one merry, one somber, but in the depths of the night, one person. So intimately twined that losing Fili had almost killed him.

His hands were a wall. Smaug’s breath beat against them, but could find no purchase. Before, Kili always regarded his telekinesis and his lightning as two different abilities. One made a number of things easier and the other was a sort of last minute quick save if all else failed. 

How wrong he had been. They were one thing, the charge of electric energy shaped with his mental hand. How they played together, like bow and arrow. 

Smaug faltered, tried again. This time there was fire, so much that the light blinded him. Kili just shut his eyes and kept his hands poised, the shield holding firm. In the white spots the flames left behind, he saw the blades rise from the gold, pulled by Smaug’s own magnetism, aimed at him. 

Fili was moving closer, Kili could feel the press of heat at his back. They were in the back garden, 5 and 7. They spent a lot of time there, away from the house, but close enough to return at a shout. Kili flung lights in the air and Fili made his fingers into a gun, shooting the little flares with jets of flame. In the twilight hours, they would glow in tandem, silver and gold. 

Smaug’s blades stuck into Kili’s shields, turning brilliant blue when arcs of power hit them like a spoon in a microwave. He was starting to overload, he realized distantly. It was shaking out of him, threatening the thin barriers of muscle and skin. Was this what Fili had felt or had he been too deep under? Had he known that the spark could be its own entity, clawing restless under mortal parts? 

Fili’s arms were around his waist and now he was so close, the closeness Kli had missed like a heartbeat, but now meant he could feel his skin broiling, under attack from another direction. His own power consuming him and Fili’s threatening to immolate him. 

“Fuck it,” he threw back his head and laughed, a heaving frightening thing that spiraled into the echo chamber of the cavern. He kept one hand facing Smaug holding him at bay as he turned to look at Fili. It was almost impossible this close, the blinding flames not so different from Smaug’s. 

“Kili,” Fili's rasping voice filled him. Kili touched the intact cheek. 

“I love you,” Kili told him and then leaned in for a kiss even as Fili tried to escape. 

The fire leaped into him and Kili welcomed it. The electric writhing mass of his spark surged up to meet it. Distantly, he was aware that there was pain, but pain was no longer a useful concept. There was only power meeting power, spark feeding on spark. 

**Category 6: The theoretical consumption of the individual by their spark. Abilities would become impossible to distinguish, merging one into the other.**

There was an enormous noise, a thousand stones breaking. Later Tauriel would describe a pillar of a storm, lightning and flames all entwined together and arching up to the clouds. The world shook as they were immolated. Smaug died in the fallout, a forgotten remnant. 

Kili knew when his own heart gave out, when his skin turned to ash. But his consciousness didn’t end, it only expanded. It took to the sky to range into the storm, goading on the clouds until they clapped thunder and poured. 

_What are you doing?_ Fili asked, alongside him, scooped away from sundered flesh. He sounded just like himself, exasperated and fond. 

_Cleaning_

The great dome of the mountain was broken. Kili washed away the gold and gems, the great rains making a flood into an underground river that would sweep them into the soil to be found by intrepid diggers a hundred years from now. Smaug’s body went with them broken apart amid his treasures. 

He flushed the great halls and the whole mountain, washed it clear of presence. Let it return to nature and die it’s long natural death by erosion. No more busy picks and drills to pry into its depths. 

When the rest of the rain had gone from him, Kili felt very tired. 

_I want to sleep._ he told Fili and he sank low near the ground in the muddy valley his deluge had wrought. 

_No no!_ he felt the protest bristling against him, but there was nothing left for it. There was no body, no drive. No life. He had become spark and spark didn’t care. It wanted rest. 

Kili ceased. 

And then he was shivering and wet on the bank of a muddy river. Fili was shaking him, tears in his eyes. Both his beautiful blue intact eyes. There was mud on his forehead, smeared all the way across. 

“Hi,” Kili smiled up at him. 

“You asshole!” Fili spat and then he was on him, kissing him properly now. 

They kissed for a long time, growing colder and wetter and hardly caring at all. Until at last, Kili had to ask, 

“Are we dead?” 

“I don’t know,” Fili smiled like the sun. 

They made love in the mud. Then they walked naked, smeared in the ruins of the mountain down to Laketown. 

Tauriel was standing in front of her car. Her hair was soaked and her eyes were red-rimmed. 

“I thought you were dead!” She smacked him on the arm and then embraced him, so he supposed they were alive after all. 

They went right on living in Kili’s apartment. Fili got a construction job and Kili got his degree. He painted more than any other work. He was never famous, but nor was he ignored. 

Thorin disappeared after the mountain. He left a note and some money behind and they didn’t go looking. Some things were left behind in the crater. Neither of them ever put on a costume again. Their sparks no longer lent themselves to easy displays. 

Instead, whenever Kili would laugh especially hard, it would begin to rain and if Fili was angry, flames would gather at the sides of his mouth. Their bedroom always smelled like a rainforest. Sometimes, Kili’s paintings would take on a lazy life of their own. A smeary Fingers would stretch and saunter around an abstract background or a tree’s leaves would dance in the wind. 

Kili was out in the back, painting in the summer’s patient evening. Fili lay in the grass at his feet, his brow furrowed in thought, 

“What do you think we are now?” he asked into the buzzing of the cicadas. 

“What we always were,” Kili detailed an iris, the delicate movement from black to blue. When he pulled away the familiar eye winked at him. “But just a little more of it.”


End file.
